


Death Doesn't Come Easy

by Iamaweirdo7



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hannah still dead btw, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, POV First Person, Past Abuse, Reader-Insert, Self-Esteem Issues, So basically you're telling the story, So it's sorta like a monologue, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Undescriptive Oral Sex, We'll add on as we go, only not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamaweirdo7/pseuds/Iamaweirdo7
Summary: Sensation-seeking. Defined as a personality trait defined by the search for experiences and feelings, that are "varied, novel, complex and intense", and by the readiness to "take physical, social, legal, and financial risks for the sake of such experiences." Or at least that's how it's defined on Wikipedia. To the reader, it's defined as being an idiot, so she doesn't know why she keeps doing it- things that are dangerous and illogical. Well, actually that's a lie. The reader does it because it's just how she copes, instead of killing herself like Hannah Baker; By doing things that can only potentially kill her, but- no- never a sure thing.





	1. To feel hope again

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'd just like to point out that Clay is a little OOC in the beginning of this, like just the beginning. He's a bit more sassy and rude, kinda like his freakout on the foreign exchange students, except this hostility is directed towards you, the reader- at least for the beginning.
> 
> Also, another thing. If you look at my other stories, you'll realize that I'm crap at updating and that I get writers block often so...if you really like what you see in this first chapter, you're gonna have to bear with me and my crappy-not-so-often updates. Thanks and enjoy.  
> *unbeta'd

I don't know how to swim. I've never learned because my family didn't go to public pools enough and we couldn't afford a pool for the backyard- not even a cheap kiddie pool. I don't know how to swim and that hasn't changed in the past few years. I don't know how to swim but yet here I am, surrounded by the darkness of midnight, standing on the railing of the bridge that hovers fifty feet above the river that separates my city from the next. I am an idiot, but I need to jump. I'm an idiot for coming here and I'm an idiot for letting him get in my head, how is it that I let Clay Jensen, of all people, get in my head- that fucking bastard. Everything was fine until just this morning when-

_I was standing in front of Hannah Bakers memorialized locker thinking about how she actually did it- she actually killed herself. For years, I had been trying to convince myself not to end it all; going to therapies, keeping the NSPL on speed dial, reading self-help books and even finding alternatives (such as slicing and dicing my own frigging skin) and here I was in front of Hannah Bakers locker, who- after one and a half extremely shitty year of living here, killed herself. I didn't know whether to be disgusted, sad or envious, but the tears rolling down my cheek were enough to tell me. I only partially understood why I was crying. I saw myself in Hannah. The feeling of always being alone, always in search of an escape from the madness, the drama, the rumors, the loneliness. It terrified me, because how long until it would be a shitty memorial in front of my locker, with people who didn't know me taking pictures and posting it on Snapchat to talk about how sad their lives were? How long until I finally hit my rock bottom and couldn't take it any more. I don't want to die, but I don't have any motivation or will to live. It took Hannah less than two years, I've been holding on for three times that long. When was I going to give? And with that thought, the tears started streaming down my face, blinding me momentarily. I tried to take a step back from the locker and bumped into Clay, who stared down at me in utter disgust._

_"Enough with the fake tears already." He growled at me. I stared back in confusion._

_"Clay, the hell are you talking about?" I croaked, trying to keep my voice from breaking._

_"You didn't even know her, how can you cry. Y/N, you weren't friends with her, rarely ever talked to her and yet you wanna cry over it? Way to make this about yourself." He shouted and then stormed away. I wanted to follow and argue and fight back but everything he said was true. Even the part about me making Hannah's suicide about myself. Because it was true, wasn't it? I wasn't crying because Hannah was gone, I was crying because I'm definitely next, because I've lost any will to care._

So here I am, standing over a bridge, clearly over-reacting to the words of a douche I've literally never said more than a hundred words to. Over-reacting to someone who's just heartbroken and upset, which has literally nothing to do with me- but fuck it, fuck it all. I don't want to die, I just want to feel something other than sadness, something other than nothing. I'm an idiot and it's time to throw myself off a bridge. And with that as my final thought, I jump off and into the water.

I submerge quickly and begin to panic as my ears pop. This was a very bad idea, I've had a very bad idea. I flail my arms wildly underneath the water but it's no use. I try the doggy paddle and it's just enough to get my head above water. I gasp in air and then look around me. Everything is pitch black and I can't see any land but I know how close I was to it when I jumped. I start to kick out my feet wildly in the direction of the shore in the darkness and hope it's enough.  _Hope,_ something I hadn't felt in a while and even though I had to do something incredibly ridiculous and dangerous to feel it, I'm just glad to have it back.

When I finally drag myself onto land, I'm exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. My legs and arms are tired and feel heavy but my heart is pounding and my eyes are wide because I am wide awake. This is the purpose of life:  _To feel._ I have to do more of this. 

 

It's three in the morning by the time I get into bed and within a blink, it's time to get ready for school. When I wake up, i'm still in my clothes from the night before, no longer soaked but still extremely damp. I've definitely given myself a cold. I wash up and head to school, bookbag stuffed with tissues for what will definitely be a runny nose later on. I quickly make my way to my locker and take the box of tissues out of my bag and place them on the shelf in my locker.

"Oh, so you've brought props for your performance? Lovely?" Clay sneers from behind you.

"I've got a cold, you ass."

"So you admit that you've been fake crying?"

"Did I say that? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't."

"Uh-huh? So you seemed perfectly healthy yesterday? What changed?"

"Almost drowned last night and fell asleep in soaked clothes." I say tersely. Gonna make him regret every bad thing he's said towards me.

"How?"

"I can't swim. Never learned."

"Okay, so did someone push you in a swimming pool or did you fall into a very large bath tub?" He asks stupidly.

"No."

"Then what happened?" He presses. Like it matters, like he cares, like he wasn't just trying to rip me apart in a bloodless coup.

"I jumped off the bridge." I say, punctuating it with a slam of my locker and then stomping away. Fuck you Clay Jensen, fuck you.


	2. I'm Going to do Something Stupid at This Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader has a small chat with Clay and also has to much fun at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a reader-insert story, I imagine it would be weird to picture your actual parents in this (especially given the occupations they have, but you'll see later on) so this is a suggestion to imagine your fake parents now. I, personally, would pick Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (RIP Brangelina) but it's all up to you. Hell for all I know, you might like imagining your parents as they're about to be described in this. Anyway, enjoy chapter 2.  
> *Unbeta'd

"Wait, what? Y/N come back!" Clay shouts rushing towards you as you continue to head for class.

"What now Clay? I have to get to class."

"But you just told me you tried to kill yourself."

"No, no, no, no, no. I did not even remotely say that. I said I jumped off a bridge. I'm seriously starting to think you're hearing things Clay." I say, smirking to myself at the irritated look he gives me.

"Yeah, but you can't swim and that bridge is like up thirty feet-"

"Fifty."

"Whatever! Wipe that stupid smile off your face. This isn't funny, you could've seriously hurt yourself and what for? Why would you do something that stupid?" He grabs me by the arm and turns me to face him.

"Clay, I don't understand why you care. It doesn't matter to you." I say, glancing at the scar on his eyebrow that definitely wasn't there the day before.  _Huh, I guess we both got into some stupid shit last night._

"I don't. Maybe I just want all of this fake sadness to go away and all of these ridiculous posters to be taken down but if you get yourself killed, they'll be up even longer." He says, scowl consuming his face.

"Clay, did anyone ever tell you how much of a crap liar you are? No, there's definitely some other reason you care because you just did a total flip from yesterday. Or, actually, you're still a prick, so maybe it was more of a 160 turn, instead of 180."

"What the hell are you talking about. Did you just turn this into a geometry analogy?"

"My point is that you wouldn't have bothered asking how I got sick yesterday and you definitely wouldn't be concerned about whether or not I tried to kill myself. And I imagine that whatever caused this sudden change in you also has something to do with that stupid new scar you're sporting, but whatever the hell it is, I don't really care, so leave me the hell alone Clay." I turn on my heel and stomp away. He can't do this to me, he can't make me feel like trash one day and then act concerned the next. It's not fair. He shouldn't be able to look at me with his stupid puppy dog eyes and make me want to spill all of my thoughts and feelings. It's not fair.  _It's also not fair that his stupid scar makes him look adorable-stop thinking like this Y/N._

 

Class speeds by, then so does chess club and then soon I am home again, greeted by my mother, who is dressing up for her second job- moonlighting as a prostitute. "Hi sweetie, how was school?"

"It was great mom." I say dully.

"Clearly you're lying darling. But if you don't want to tell me, that fine. There's a party later on tonight that I think you should go to."

"Aren't you supposed to be encouraging me to stay home and study?"

"I know you'll be back by eleven anyway, so what does it even matter? You're always here by curfew, so why not go have fun?" Except I'm not always here by curfew and I definitely wasn't last night. That is the beauty of having a prostitute for a mom, she didn't get home until later and whenever she finally did get home, she would crash until nine in the morning, then get ready to go to her job as a restaurant waitress. "I can see you're overthinking it, Love. It's already seven go get dressed and go to that party. I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Oh, mom, you're just  _so_ loving." I say as I head up to my room. Maybe I will go to the party.

"I'll leave the address on the fridge anyway, my sarcastic smartass darling!!"

It's hard to have a prostitute for a mom. Not because it's weird or anything like that (well it is weird, but that's not what makes it hard). What makes it hard is that I'm pretty sure that if I didn't exist, she wouldn't need to be one. If she hadn't gotten pregnant with me in college, she could have actually made something off herself and finished. Wouldn't have been stuck with my abusive prick of a father for years.

Ahh, yes. Dad was a dick. One that beat his wife every fortnight because he was an organized man. Thing was, no one had believed my mom, said she was crying wolf. Dad was- or still is, haven't seen him in a while- scrawny. The nerdy type with a lanky body, someone who didn't look physically fit enough to fight or beat anyone. But he did and for years we were stuck with that. Mom seemed content to live with it though, as long as dad was bringing in enough money to help pay mortgage. She wasn't a prostitute back then, just a waitress who suffered beatings as a part time job to make ends-meet. She even ignored it when dad so blatantly cheated on her. It all seemed fine...until dad started beating me.

That was the final strike for mom and she kicked dad out... well after beating him brutally with a frying pan. It wasn't hard because dad- woman beater or not- was still a scrawny stick and while that had once been an issue for us because no one believed my mom, it was greatly appreciated that night as she threw her weight into each and every swing. That night, I thought it would be the end of my mothers pain. That she would never have to suffer from any abuse ever again. The next few weeks were great it seemed, completely stress free. Up until the end of the month when we got the next mortgage bill and mom suddenly needed a second job. I don't exactly know how she got to prostitution, I just know it took a month of looking for completely legal and reasonably paying jobs, and another bill to show up before she gave in.

-

I hear the door shut and my mom call out a 'goodbye' around nine and by then my decision is made, I'm going to the party. I search through my clothing and find my shortest pair of shorts, which still cover my ass fully and my thighs, which are scarred from cuts I used to make. I throw on a navy blue mid-drift netted shirt over a black tank and some black converse. By the time I leave out, it's almost ten. I'll probably be out past curfew and mom would never know.

 When I arrive to the party, its already in full swing and full of people I've never met. They all have to be from a different school, I realise- which is considerably a good thing since I'd never been too fond of people at my own school. I make a beeline for the cooler and pull myself out a beer.  _I'm going to do something very stupid tonight_ I think to myself as I eye a raven-haired chick snort a line of coke. Yes, something very stupid indeed.

The rest of the night goes by in flashes; Me licking a body shot off of a stripper named Karamel ( _ **A/N: Five points for you if you get that reference)**_ , me taking in a fifth of vodka, me snorting more cocaine, and me jumping into a swimming pool- after last night, I've convinced myself that I'm a decent doggy-paddler and that's enough. I black out at one point and wake up on a lawn chair, still damp from pool water. If I keep jumping into bodies of water without having a change of clothes with me,I'm probable going to catch pneumonia- and here I thought this cold was bad. 

It's raining when I finally come to and my head is pounding from the toxic mix of vodka and coke. It truly is a miracle I'm still breathing. _Vodka and cocaine? God I am an idiot, a huge one._  I look at my watch and see that it's two in the morning.  I stand up much too quickly and then sit back down, or rather stumble back on my ass and onto the chair. I take a deep breath and try again, slowly this time. I stumble my way home and make it through the door at exactly two thirty. I take off my damp clothes this time and collapse into bed. When I wake up at seven for school, a wave of nausea hits me and I decide to stay home instead. Mom will understand, she'll be pissed that I got drunk (because I certainly won't tell her about the coke) but she be glad I did something fun. I spend the day sleeping until I hear a pounding on the door at four. I throw on an oversized sweatshirt that only _just_ covers my ass then trip down the stairs and open the door to see-

"Clay, what the hell are you doing here?"


	3. Shit. I've Been Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay wants you to discuss your internal issues, you just want to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've just realised that I need to Clarify this. The main character- well, I guess you because all of that reader-insert stuff (you get the picture)- has depression. In last chapter, it showed that you're poor in this story, so it goes without saying that you've never gotten a chance to get diagnosed because your family can't really afford hospital visits or checkups. I just wanted to clarify (i really like that word) because I don't want the character I've made to seem like the type of person who wants to die simply because they've never put any effort into being happy. She has depression but she doesn't know it, she just assumes there's something inherently wrong with her.   
> Also, this chapter is slightly perverted ( slowly trying to write better smut scenes, read my other stuff and you'll realise that I kind of suck at smut)  
> *Unbeta'd

"You weren't at school toady and I'm still convinced that you're suicidal." He says, stepping past me and into the house without my permission.  _Prick._

"As you may recall, I had a pretty bad cold yesterday. Could it have not just been that?" I say, refusing to hide my irritation with him- the fucker made me get out of bed.

"You don't seem to like me very much." He says, picking up a framed photo of me and my mom.

"Well, as you can see, I'm alive and well, so you can go."  _Not to mention that I was having a great nap._

"I don't think I should." 

"Oh, Clay, for the love of- I'm not going to kill myself. You can leave. You don't even have any proof that I'm suicidal. For all you know I could've been lying just to fuck with you. You already said it yourself, I don't like you. Maybe I'm just playing some sick twisted game to fuck with your head because I just hate you so much." I say, sighing heavily. I want someone to talk to and someone to help, but not Clay, anyone but high and mighty, never-done-anything-wrong Clay Jensen.  _Anyone_ but him. I'll take hallucinations of a dead Hannah Baker if it meant I didn't have to sit in a room with Clay and tell him my problems while he silently judges me -or maybe not even silently, because this is Clay Jensen, the person who obviously doesn't like me and thinks my tears are fake. Maybe he'll think my problems are fake too, and maybe he's right because I am petty, aren't I? I've risked my life twice because I don't have a reason to live- not even because I want to die, but because I don't have a reason to live. It was one thing when dad was still here, beating mom senseless, for me to hate life and want to die- but now? God, what's wrong with me, why can't I just be normal and want to live?

"Hey, Y/N! Y/N! You are alright over there?" Clay shouts.

"Huh?"

"You've been ignoring me for the past minute and forty seconds."  _Because he counts... like I count sheep before I sleep, which I could be doing!!_

"Clay, just go home and move on. I'm not suicidal or currently at any risk."

"Okay. I'll go home if you answer me one question."

"Shoot."

"If you're not currently at any risk, what the hell are those scars all over your thighs?" He says pointing to my bare legs.  _Shit. I've been exposed._

"Just that," I say smoothly. "Scars. As in, old and no longer an issue. I haven't cut myself in over two years. You can go now." 

"No I can't."

"Why not!" I whine, punctuating it with a stubborn stomp of my foot.

"You jumped into a river knowing that you can't swim and you at least  _used_ to cut yourself. I'd say that's enough reason for me to suspect your about to go down the same path as Hannah."

I let out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, god don't compare me to her, please. We are nothing alike." 

"And what the hell does that mean?!" He says defensively, because of course he does. He's Clay Jensen and he was in love-probably still is- with Hannah Baker and saying anything even remotely rude about her, or crying over her when you never knew her, was a step over the line. Little did Clay know that the reason I was nothing like her was because I didn't have the balls to actually kill myself. She did. But if I tell Clay that, he'll just think it proves his point and then he'll never leave.

"It means I'm not that weak!" I snap at him and I instantly regret it because I don't see Hannah as weak, I've never seen any suicide victim as weak. I've always seen them as people who just decided it was their time to go and I've always been okay with them feeling that because I always feel like it's my time to go, but I just  _can't._ "It means I don't just quit, no matter how shitty my life may get and yes, Clay, I realise that I don't know the half of it. I don't know a thing about your precious Hannah's life or what she went through or what made her do it, I just know my life and how much it sucks and that no matter what I won't do it. Is that what you're waiting to here so that you don't feel responsible for my death? You just want to make sure I don't kill myself and list you as a reason?" He visibly flinches at that and I, assuming that I struck a nerve (which I did, just not the one I was expecting), push forward. "Oh, yeah, is that it Clay? You ignore my existence for the most part of my life and then suddenly, two days ago, the most you've ever said to me is just how much of a crap person I am for crying over someone's death! You feel guilty about that and just want to make sure you haven't pushed me past my breaking point? Well guess what Clay, I don't  _have_ a breaking point. I'm stuck on this earth until some nameless god decides to take me!!" I let out a growl at the end of my rant and then stomp upstairs to my bedroom to flop onto of my covers. He can let himself out once he exits the stunned silence I left him in.

-

Except he doesn't let himself out because exactly sixteen minutes later- and yes, I counted- he walks into my bedroom. I need a lock.

"What now?" I sigh exasperatedly. He doesn't even respond, just steps forward towards me. I give him a sideways glance, refusing to move from my spot on the bed. I'm almost tempted to spread-eagle myself and leave no room for him at all. "Seriously, Clay, use your words."  Nothing, not a peep, he just looks up and down my legs, taking in the cuts that surround both my inner and outer thighs. He then gets on the edge of my bed, spreads my legs apart and wordlessly starts kissing my scars. 

I feel a blush run up my body. I'm no stranger to sex but this is definitely more intimate than anything I've ever experienced. Panic starts to seize me and I try to lightly shove him away but he glances up and the look he gives me is downright filthy; it's filled with lust and anger but also with sadness and confusion. It makes my stomach twist and I want to look away but I don't. I don't know how far Clay plans on taking this but what's terrifying is that I don't know how far I'm willing to let him go. Just minutes ago, I was yelling at him, angry at him for treating me badly, for ignoring my existence except for when he wanted to put me down and now here I was allowing him to kiss the scars all over my thighs, thinking of going further.

As Clay went higher up, I felt heat begin to pool in between my legs. Maybe this was far enough for today. Clay was way to sweet and innocent- well not to me but I've seen how he interacts with other students- clearly there was something personal going on with him and there was no way I was going to take advantage of him when he was in such a vulnerable position. That's just not who I-

He tugged down on my underwear and all reasonable thoughts flew out the window- but just for a moment. I quickly regained control.

"Clay, are you sure you want to do this?" I ask softly, hoping he'll have the strength to say no because no matter how much I want to give in, I'll no doubt hate myself for it later.

"You know, whether you're yelling at me or lecturing me or being sweet and giving me a chance to change my mind, you always seem to talk at the worst time." He says, wearing a smirk that's so unlike Clay, so sinful, I'm almost positive he's got an evil clone. Before I even have a chance to respond, he plunges his face directly between my thighs and the words leave my tongue as something akin to a scream.  _This is something to live for. Sex is clearly a reason to live- why do I have to think about this now? Why can't I just enjoy this?!.... Because I don't deserve to enjoy this, right. Because I just sold out a dead girl just to piss off someone- who's face is in between my legs and-_

"Oh, god!" I shout out, orgasm shattering my thoughts as Clay continues to spear me with his tongue. I'm a whimpering mess when he finally crawls up the rest of my body and yanks my H/C hair forward, pulling me into a searing kiss. He slips his tongue into my mouth and I taste myself. It's erotic and arousing and shameful because,  _omygods,_ I can't stand Clay Jensen but I just let him get to third base with me and now we're-

"Even post-orgasm, you've managed to overthink yourself into another problem. You've got to work on that." He pecks my lips one final time and then crawls off of me. I try to respond with something. Anything at all, I even consider offering to reciprocate because honestly how does one not want payback? But then I see the wet spot forming itself on his khakis and I've no idea how to respond. "See you tomorrow, Y/N." He  _finally_ leaves the house. But what the hell am I supposed to do now?


	4. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader is freaking out about what happened last chapter, has a mini-panic attack and realises that she feels multiple things for Clay.  
> *Unbeta'd

I sit still on my bed trembling. What did I just get myself into. This is not okay, I cannot be associated with Clay Jensen. I can't stand him, but I just let him- _no, that doesn't mean anything. I'd have let anyone do that because rarely do people ever turn down free oral sex. It doesn't mean anything._ But did it mean anything to Clay? I've never seen act that with anyone else before. Not even with Hannah. He's always nice and stored away, he's never been that intense, at least not that I've seen-  _no, I'm overthinking. Like Clay said, I'm overthinking myself into another problem. He was just trying to be helpful. I was upset and he found a way to get rid of the stress, like sweet do-gooder Clay would._

Okay, no fuck that, because he didn't help me at all, I'm more keyed up than ever before. I need to do something again, I need to do something incredibly stupid again, anything to get him off of my mind because he's bad news. He's in love with a dead girl, pissed about her death and intent on taking his anger out on  _someone_ and I will not be caught in the cross fire. This was a one-off and I will not let it happen again.

I go to the kitchen and rummage through mom's liquor cabinet, searching for anything heavy enough to make me forget the last few hours. Yes, i do realize that what I'm doing is incredibly stupid and I do realize that it's probably not good to get drunk again when the first hangover has barely finished passing, but what the hell else am I supposed to do.  I know I  _should_ stay calm and think through to a solution because contrary to what Clay might believe, thinking is actually good for me- I can use logic to solve my problems and I would totally be down for that if I wasn't just left in the midst of what- at least what I'm pretty sure- is a panic attack. Yes- that's right. Clay goes down on me and once the soothing calm finally goes away, I'm left with too many emotions and no proper way to solve them and what happens then? I work myself up into a panic!!!  _Wonder-fucking-ful!!_

The bottle I'm holding slips out of my hand and I slide down to the floor, panting. I don't remember how to handle this, I haven't had a panic attack in years.  _Ok- um, you can do this.. just.. deep breaths, right! Okay, Deep breathes, count backwards from a hundred to one. Slowly, slowly-_

"One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, nine-" The door opens and panic seizes me again as I think  _mom._ She'd be pissed to see I was in her liquor cabinet and then she'd freak out and be devastated when she saw the state I was in. I find myself working up into a frenzy again and suddenly, the counting doesn't mean anything, taking deep breaths doesn't do anything because I'm at risk of being discovered and all of my dirty secrets are close to being revealed and-

"Y/N?" Clay, again. I can't even respond with my usual irritation because of the position I'm in- cradling myself on the floor, shaking relentlessly and breathing hard. Anyone from a mile away can guess exactly what happened, especially with a bottle of tequila shatter apart next to me. "Y/N, what the hell happened? I was gone for like five minutes and then I realized that I left my helmet... are you okay?"

I'm angry. Not just because he's asked a stupid question, but because he's back and I don't want him near me or any of his help. I've been fine without him, I don't need him. If anything, he's the cause of my problems- most of this didn't start  until that stupid day when I cried at the wrong time in front of the wrong person- Or maybe I'm wrong because, didn't this start years ago, when I had was forced to stay up late at night listening to my father beat my mother senseless? The panic attacks started there and the cutting shortly after. This is just where I am now, and it was a long time coming. Eventually everything would come crashing down and someone was going to have to see that I'm on the verge to self-destruction but _why_  did it have to be Clay?

I realise Clay is still waiting for an answer and the fact that he's standing over me, watching me with concern only makes it harder to calm down and give one. I feel exposed with him watching me like that. I feel guilty and dirty, like the kid who just got caught stealing the game boy his parents couldn't afford. Without my consent, tears start to seep out of my eyes and through my panicked thoughts, I feel a pang of irritation at myself-  _I hate crying so much._  

"Oh, god." I hear Clay say  just before I black out.  _Oh, god, indeed._

\--

I wake up with my face smothered into something soft, so soft I originally refuse to open my eyes, out of fear that the comfort is just a dream. But then the rest of my sense come in and I hear the soft snoring of someone else, then I feel the rising and falling of a chest underneath mine. I try to recollect my thoughts of what happened recently and my first guess is that I just fell asleep on mom during a movie night. Two or three minutes pass and I'm satisfied with this answer until finally, all of my thoughts come rushing back and I jolt up from where I lay- or at least try to. I open my eyes to see that I'm cuddled into the chest of Clay Jensen, his arms wrapped protectively around my waist. I find it soothing just for a moment before I feel the need to be repulsed by it.  _This cannot be happening! I literally just had this discussion  with myself and now here I am anyway, wrapped up in Clay- **literally!!**_

I try to assess the situation and figure out how to untangle myself from his arms without him noticing. It's not that late and mom won't be back for another few hours. If I can disappear and stay away until Clay wakes up and then leaves, then I can avoid the awkward conversation that basically ensured now that I've  let it go this far. I slowly begin to wiggle my way out of his embrace when a low groan makes me stop. I look up to see Clay's sleeping face contorted into something that looks almost like pain. I wait a beat and then try again, only this time when I hear the groan, I notice something hard pressing against my thigh. Everything seems to snap into place a that moment, as my face heats up and immediately stop trying to escape- because I've just never been a somnophilia type of girl.

_Okay, so .. plan two? Pretend to sleep- or even go back to sleep to make it more realistic- and out sleep Clay. He's too nice to wake me up after the day I've had and he has to go home eventually. This will work, totally._ I think to myself. I try to settle back into his chest and ignore how he's solidly pressing into my thigh. I don't want to be one of those people that fuck their way into love, I don't want to be want of those people who end up in love.  _Couldn't work with Clay anyway, he's still in love with a dead girl, remember?_ And remembered, I did and suddenly there was a flare of anger in me. Just for a small second, but enough for me to realise that already, I was in too deep. Whatever it was I felt for Clay, clearly lead to a green-eyed monster, which was something I had previously never felt before. Of all the emotions I've been through- and there are a lot- jealousy was never one of them. Not until now.  _Goddammit, you let him into your head!!_

"Clay," I said, voice muffled by his shirt. I tugged on it a little. "Clay, wake up. Clay, seriously, I don't like sharing my bed space and you're invading my privacy. I'm going to have ask you to get up, sorry for the eviction without the notice, but seriously,  _get up_." He hears something, enough to make him shift and roll over so that it's him lying on my chest, but he doesn't wake up. "Great, a heavy sleeper." I let out a huge sigh and I hear Clay let out a gasp and then a choked moan. My eyes widen and I look to see how our bodies are now intertwined. My conclusion? Not at all. Aside from Clay's head being placed right between my boobs, we aren't touching.  _Which means he's having a wet dream. No, this is not okay. This will never be okay._ "Clay!" I give him a quick slap on the face- admittedly with more force than necessary but I wasn't just going to let the 'your tears are fake' incident go, not without a little payback.

He wakes with a start and then quickly relaxes back onto me, as if it's the most normal thing for him to wake up to. "Clay, for the love of God, could you please get off me and go home?" I say, trying to convey nonchalance when my nerves are actually on fire for a list of reasons.

"Can't, we have so much to talk about." He says against my chest. It makes me feel all fuzzy inside, like this is a possibility- a relationship where we could just cuddle together and talk of nothing. But then I remind myself, he's fallen for Hannah Baker and I'm not in a position where I can risk heart break and be fine right after.

"Clay, it's fine. You really don't need to be here."

"Says the girl on self-destruct mode."

"You can't possibly belive-"

"Jumping into large bodies of water whilst not being able to swim and attempting to drink one of the strongest alcohols. Those are just the things I know about. How do I know those are just flukes? What if you're lying about your cuts? Sure, the ones on your thighs are obviously old but it's not like I've explored every inch of bare skin you have. From what I've seen, it's not safe for you to be alone because clearly you're a danger to yourself." He sits up and looks me firmly in the eye. "Now, we can do this one of two ways. First option is you let me stay here to make sure you don't do anything stupid and when you're willing to talk,we'll talk. The second option is that I call an ambulance right now and I have your ass committed to a mental hospital."

It's a threat, a challenge, an ultimatum. It's all of the things I hate rolled up into one and then styled as a decision I get to make. Something in me desperately wants to fight back, to see his face slacken in disappointment and turn red in anger but then I think of how much my mom  _wouldn't_ be able to afford the hospital bills if I was committed. With a sigh, I turn onto my side and face the wall- too angered by his face and not wanting him to see the tears that start to escape my eyes again. After some shifting around, I feel his chest press flush against my back and he throws an arm over me, as if I might escape if I'm not caged in.  _Well, I would._

"Go to sleep Y/N."

"Go to hell Clay."


	5. I can avoid conversation very well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Like just a continuance of last chapter. I fudging hate whenever I go into writers block, everything is just so hazy and I have to reread everything I wrote in order to figure out where to go next. I don't even know when the next chapter is coming.

I try to go back to sleep, I honestly do. My only other option would be to stay awake and talk to Fuckface That Shall Not Be Named so sleep is extremely appealing. The only problem is that after spending most of the day sleeping and then the rest of it passed out from a panic attack, it's kind of hard to go to sleep again. Especially when my body is thrumming with anxiety because I know that I will have to talk to Fuckface That Shall Not Be Named again. And unfortunately, that's not even the only reason my body is in overdrive. Fuckface is pressed right into my back and now that I know I have some type of feelings for him, I can't easily ignore it. My mind is occupied by his moans in his sleep and I want to know who it is he dreamt about but another part of me knows that I won't like the answer. I have to stop this, I need to convince Fuckface that I'll be a good girl so that he can stop trying to save me. I don't want to be his goddamn damsel or his replacement to Hannah.  _I don't want to compete with a dead girl to get some affection._ I don't even want him to fall in love with me, no matter how I feel about him. I just want this constant feeling of not feeling and feeling too much at the same time to stop.

I twist around so I'm facing Fuckface's chest. He's sound asleep again and his grip on my waist isn't as hard as earlier. I carefully lift his arm and manuver myself from under it.  _Ha, I've escaped,_ I quickly and silently get dressed, write a note and put it on the fridge for my mom and then get out. I'll be back before Clay wakes and mom will be in and out before that too. He'll never know. 

This time, my next super stupid thing is a little more thought out. I know what damaging thing I want to do this time- I've always wanted a tattoo. One of those pretty ones, like a blue hibiscus flower or butterfly. Something right where my should and back meet. I still want the tattoo to be in the same place, but now I'm not so sure about the flower or butterfly.

When I walk into the tattoo parlor, I finally know what is that I want. I get a small razor, dripping blood as my new ink. The whole thing is less than 2 inches long and less than 3 inches wide but the stinging pain I felt the whole time seemed a whole lot worse. A few tears escaped while the artist continued to press down incessantly on my skin. When he was finally finished, he slapped a bandage on my arm and I paid him with money I hustled from pool over the summer ( but that's a story for another time).

When I get to the front of my door, I'm convinced that I've successfully tricked both my mom and Fuckface. Then I open the door, turn towards the kitchen and see them both eating pasta.  _What the fuck man?!_

"Oh, Y/N, why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" My mom asks. I'm about to refute her statement when I see Fuckface mouth at me to just go with it. I'd argue just to spite him if he didn't have that whole 'mental hospital' thing hanging over my head.

"Oh, you know... it's kind of a new thing, didn't want you to get excited, you know, just in case Fu- I mean Clay came to his senses and left me." I say through clenched teeth.

"Nonsense, I'd never leave you. You're such a catch." Fuckface says, eyes sparkling in mischief.

"Aww, that's so cute!" My mom gushes. "Y/N, come sit down. Tell me more about your relationship and tell me why you left Clay all by himself while you went to make a run, that's so rude. I thought I taught you better." I glance at the fridge and see that my note is missing but mom seems to have no knowledge of my fake library visit-  _Dammit, he must've woken before she even got here, hell could've been as soon as I left._

"Yeah, i;m ..uh.. real sorry about that Clay. A friend just really needed help with a younger sibling." I lie.

"Well as long as you're back now, dumpling." Clay says in a sugary-sweet voice.  _And for fucks sake,_ dumpling _?!_

"That's so cute." My mother, again, gushes. "Now really, tell me how you met and how this whole relationship started. I only get a little break tonight, I've got to be back out in an hour or so."  _I'm assuming you didn't tell him what you do for a living, did you, mom?_

"Well, I normally tutor some kids in the school library and Y/N is just always there, reading a book or studying something. I'd always noticed her and it took me weeks to work up the nerve and ask her out. Totally thought she would reject me." Clay says and I begin to wonder just how he became so good at lying his ass off. It's almost concerning.

"That's my little girl- always in the library working hard. Go ahead and eat darling, your plate is in the oven."

"You know, I'm actually not that hungry right now mom." I say. Clay glances up at me with a raised eyebrow, as if to say 'oh, really?' But it's not like it's my fault!! This whole situation is fucked up and I can't think about food if I'm stuck on how to avoid 'talking out my problems' and avoid going to a mental hospital all at once.

"Stomach still upset from yesterdays hangover?" My mom asks with a smirk playing at her lips. Clays eyebrow only seems to shoot up farther, right under his hairline and I belatedly realise that Clay had no idea about yesterdays party or my drinking.  _Goddamit mom._

"Hangover? Love, you didn't tell me about **this**." Clay says, drawing out the last word.

"I wasn't planning on it either. Thank you very much mom." I say, giving her the evil eye.

"Oh, don't give me that look. If anything, I just helped you out. Relationships should be built on honesty- that includes embarrassing hangover stories." Mom says giving me a pointed look.

"I'm sure we'll have a really long talk about it later, won't we, Y/N?" Clay says, staring me right in the eye.  _Again with the challenges and ultimatums._

"Oh, yes definitely." I sigh through clenched teeth. How my mom is so oblivious to the obvious tension in the room, I will never understand.

\--

"So, about this party you went to last night?" Clay says once we're back in my room and my mom is gone off to work again.

"I really don't have to tell you anything."  _I'm such an obstinate motherfucker._

"I think you really do. Or did you forget about the warning I gave you earlier?" He cocks a stupid, beautiful eyebrow and I just want to bash his face in and kiss him at the same time.

"Oh, you mean the one where you're basically blackmailing me because you have neither a heart nor a soul?"

"Call it what you want and say about me whatever you want but I'm here because I care. If you weren't so stubborn I would have to threaten to get you the help you so very obviously need. Does your mom even know that you cut?"

" _Used_ to. And no."

"Didn't think so. How about we start out slow. We don't have to go deep, you don't have to tell me all about your emotions or feelings. You don't even have to tell me what it is you we're thinking, because baby steps.Let's just start with what it is you did at the party.. all of it." He crouches down in front of where I'm seated on my bed. Again, I feel like a five year old caught doing something bad, only instead I don't want to cry, I just want to scream and punch something.

"Fine." I sigh out. "Last night, I drank more tequila and vodka than one could possibly comprehend, I snorted some cocaine, proceeded to then lick a body shot of a very nice stripper named Karamel and then I jumped into a pool." When I finish, Clay just stares at me as if I've lost my mind. "What, you asked?!"

He rolls his eyes, leans forward and kisses me. I gasp and my eyes flutter shut. He places his hands on my waist and I wrap my arms around his neck. With my mouth, I mentally map out the shape and slant of his lips. I relax into him and enjoy the moment, but for just a moment because not to much later, I remember who I am and who he is and how we got here and I shove him off of me.

"May I ask why it is that you kissed me?" I ask in a calm tone- much calmer than I actually am because I'm pissed, livid!! How dare he play with my feelings. How dare he try to heal me, make me better and string me along. How dare he keep trying to fix me and make me think he cares.

"I don't exactly know. Because it felt right?" He has the nerve to actually look sheepish. His face turns a shade of red and he scratches the back of his head as if in deep thought.

"Look, Clay." I take a deep breath. "I know it's hard for you to move on from Hannah because you loved her and I know that you blame yourself for her death because that's just the kind of person you are but I can't be her replacement. You can't save me and hope that makes up for Hannah being death. I'm not her and I never will be. You'll never love me the way you loved her and you'll never see me the way you saw her so just stop trying to." I hold in a tear.

"Is that what you think this is?" He looks up at me, actually looks hurt.

"Clay, what else could it possibly be. You weren't even talking to me until a few days ago. I'm not mad at you for it, you must be going through a hard time but I'm not your damn damsel."

His face contorts into a scowl. "So I guess it's just impossible for me to like you! Because I'm broken and stuck on the same record, which just happens to be a dead girl? I'm not allowed to move on or something?! I'm not allowed to fall in love with someone else, who just also happens to need help...no it has to be some sort of psychological thing where I'm trying to make up for past mistakes?! You know what Y/N, you are such an asshole and you don't know shit. Don't you fucking dare cancel out how I might feel just because you want to be in denial about how you feel." He shouts at me. 

"Clay," I say softly. "You're right, I don't know how you feel and I shouldn't cancel out your feelings but there is no way you're in love with me. We haven't even known each other all that long. I'm willing to accept 'strong like', but love? Clay, seriously?" My voice cracks at the end, the hope seeping obviously into my disbelief. I love him. Easily I know, just from the way he's tried to fix me in these past few days, the concern that he wears so obviously- I know I'm in love with him. I'm so pathetic that I'll fall for anyone who cares about me at all. But for him to love me when all I've done is push him away and talk badly about his first love?

He rolls his eyes and pulls me forward against him. He leans down and kisses me again. This time I don't bother pushing him away. His tongue pokes at my bottom lip, asking for entrance and I let him in. From that point on, everything goes into a frenzy. Its all tongue battling and teeth clattering as we start ripping each others clothes off. The conversation is not over, it's no where near done and we both know this. But there's something about the tension in the room that's dying to be released and there's a fire of passion and anger and confusion in me that's not going to die anytime soon and with that knowledge firm on my mind, I yank him down on top of me on the bed.


End file.
